My body really wants to stay bundled under the covers this morning, but I know I have to force myself out of my warm bed and get ready for the day. Number one priority right now is to get to Ruthford's house by one.

   I wake up at eleven (out of habit by now, I guess), stretching a little before getting out of bed. Unfortunately, I don't realize Xalale's asleep right next to my bed and I accidentally step on him- kinda hard actually.

  The only reason I got out of bed so certain was that I was sure he'd be up by now. I mean, he did go to bed before me. But I was wrong in assuming that apparently.

   This is not the way to start off the day with him- already in a pissed mood- but the damage is done and sitting up, he glares at me.

   "What are you doing?" He snaps.

   "Sorry."

    It's all I say as I slide fully out of bed, walking over to my dresser.

    I can feel his hard stare at the back of my neck, but don't pay him any mind. He eventually lies back down, but I can still sense the foul mood he's now in.

   I swear, his spirit animal would be a cat, not lying. I mean, if you step on a cat- especially when they're sleeping- they immediately hate you for life. Also, cats have mood swings. One minute they're cuddling with you and being playful, the next, they're trying to tear out your eyes and piss all over you.

   This makes me smile for a little bit, something to cheer me up for the day ahead. I know I'm going to need it dealing with someone as drab as Ruthford.

   Collecting my clothes, I head to the bathroom, change into my outfit, and refresh myself for the day. Grimacing in the mirror before heading out, I really wished I liked yogurt so this visit would reap some joy on my behalf. Still, I put on a brave face and venture back into my room to discard my night clothes.

   Peeking in, I notice that Xalale is back asleep. He must be pretty tired- for some odd reason (God knows being pissed 24/7 can wear a soul out).

    "Maybe he's starting to become sick?"

   I really shouldn't care too much, but the good, helpful side of me wants to and it will probably gnaw at me all day. Figures.

   Not wasting another second, I quietly retreat out of my room, out the front door, and beginning my track towards town.

 I'm an idiot. I don't realize this fact until passing the Welcome to Cauldron sign.

   Only having recently acquainted myself with Ruthford- I barely knew he existed- it's given knowledge that I wouldn't know where exactly he lives. To top that off, I don't even know his last name, so I'm stumped.

   My best bet is asking someone in town- someone has to know. So even though I'm not in the most sociable mood, I head into the heart of town in search of someone to ask.

   It's Saturday so there's no scarce supply of people to ask. I have to choose carefully, though. Mrs. Sherman has probably already blabbered to the majority of town about me running around with Xalale. Everyone is a potential danger to my secret. I can already feel the strained stares coming from every person I pass on the street. There's the usual persona of a shallow, cheery mask, but underneath is the raging stares and implications. But I try my hardest not to shrink under the scrutiny, continuing to go about my business as normal.

   Making a decision on who to ask, I duck into the clothing store, breathing a sigh of relief once noticing Doug's shaggy, blond mop nodding along to the beat of a folk guitar over the staticky radio.

   "Hey Doug."

   He tunes down the radio a bit to focus his attention on me.

   Whipping his hair, unsuccessfully, out of his face, he casually leans back in his stool, back resting against the wall.

  "What's up?"

  "Nothing much just wanted to know if you knew a guy named Ruthford and where he might live."

   This he straightens up to, which tells me he's in thought.

   After a moment of deep thinking, he slowly begins to shake his head, "Nope, I don't believe I have an answer to either of your questions. Is he a new guy?"

   "No, he's in our grade. Tall, pimple faced, brown hair, a little...awkward."

   I wait for his response, but again he slowly shakes his head, clearly useless to my pursuit of answers. Sighing, I rest my elbows on the counter thinking of who else I might be able to ask.

   "You know, I could always ask my dad, he's in the store today." He offers.

   Not waiting for my response, he shifts in the stool to face the side of the store where the back is and calls out for his dad.

   Doug's father comes trudging out of the room with his usual stoic face. To be honest, Doug's dad has always intimidated me- he does for a lot of people (own his son even). Doug's dad is a military guy to the core; he served in the forces for twelve years before being honorably discharged. The man never smiles, never greets you when you first come in, always has rules that must be upheld- if anything this man was strict about rules. He's the type that doesn't sit well with the churchgoers because he's not a religious guy by any means, he's the kind that will get heated and passionate regarding any overseas, political topic or military topic period. He's the kind of guy Xalale would most definitely clash with.

   "What are you hollering for?" His deep, gravely voice barks.

   Doug makes sure to straighten up a little as not to get scolded more, and clears his throat.

   "Oh, well, Mallory here just wanted to know if you knew a guy- he's in our grade level, but I don't know him- his name's- what was it?"

   "Ruthford." I pipe up.

   "Yeah, Ruthford. We don't know his last name."

   His impatient, stony expression remains on his face as he stares at his son. He hasn't even glanced my way or greeted me in any manner.

   "Well if you don't know him how on God's earth am I supposed to?"

   See, I really am starting to think that people like Xalale and Doug's dad just naturally have very impatient, irritated tones of voice- like they just can't help it.

   "I dunno, I just thought-"

    His dad cuts him off, "It's I don't know. Stop using that damn, improper slang those country bumpkins sing."

   I would really hate to have him as a father.

   Doug seemingly wilts under the harsh scolding and tucks his tail between his legs. His dad's about to walk off, but I speak up before he does.

   I don't know if it's because people like Doug's dad don't intimidate me anymore due to my tolerance for Xalale or what, but the authoritative tone I use can't be explained any other way.

   "Thank you for taking your time to assist us."

    Maybe a little sassy but it doesn't catch his attention. I'm not sure how he'll react to that, but I find out as he walks back to the counter a somewhat disbelieving look on his face now, like who am I to use such a tone with him.

    I nod to Doug.

   "Thank you for trying to help, I better be on my way."

    Turning on my heels, I'm headed to the door when a voice calls out.

    "Ryders."

    Stopping, I glance back, waiting expectedly.

    Doug's dad has a quick look of discouragement before returning to his usual macho expression, but this time with a less harsh edge to his voice.

    "You said his name is Ruthford?" He scratches his stubble a bit, in thought then looks at me. "I think I know a man who's son is named Ruthford- he might have told me once but I'm just remembering now."

    Now his eyes really light up with recognition.

    "Yes, yes, Maurice Weiber. He told me he served in the Marines for five years- a good, upstanding man.

    He lives at the north end of town near the edge and that's all I can tell you."

    I crack a small smile, though I know it won't be returned, and turn to head on my way, making sure to turn back around and call out my gratitude before heading back out.

   "So the north side of town near the edge."

    It's much easier heading away from the heart of town where all the judgemental stares are. I'm sure once I begin to reach the end of houses marking the town line, I can just knock on the door and ask a neighbor which house is the Weiber's.

   Deciding I'm far enough on the north side of town, I choose a random house to knock on the door and ask where the Weibers live. The house I choose is inhabited by a white hair old woman who has that look of a frequent old lady jogger.

   "The Weibers?" She croaks. "Oh, they live in the nice little farmhouse just down the road there. It's the only house on that dirt road so you shouldn't miss it. Are you sure you don't want to come in for a drink, honey? It's rather hot out today."

   She's already offered me inside twice but I kindly rejected her offer, instead thanking her for the help and go on my way to find the dirt road she said was farther down.

   Turns out they live a little on the outskirts of town. There is, in fact, a paved road that eventually becomes a dusty, lumpy path that can loosely be described as a road. I walk that path for a minute or two before coming into view of a rundown looking farmhouse that the old lady described as "nice".

    I really should've accepted that lady's offer of a drink. I'm dying in this heat! I didn't expect to be walking so long. Nevertheless, I've made it to Ruthford's house.

   Standing at the edge of the property, I survey the area. I mean, I know my trailer house isn't much to write home about, but Ruthford's house is, for a lack of better words, pitifully washed up. White, yellowing paint from the siding peels and chips while the fading shutters seem to be holding on by mere faith alone. The grass, though cut and maintained, is a craggy, dry patch. The wooden planks that make up the porch creak painfully underfoot as I reach the fading wooden door.

   "Let's hope the inside looks better than the outside."

    Taking a breath, I give three good, heavy knocks on the door that resound. I'm thankfully not waiting for too long, for an eager-eyed Ruthford swings open the door.

   "You made it." His voice sounds even more energetic than it did over the phone, which is hard to believe.

   "Yeah, thanks again for inviting me over."

   He steps aside to let me in then closes the heavy door behind me. I walk down the hall until I'm in the family room.

   The house is as tired on the inside as it appeared on the outside. Ancient looking wallpaper line the entire downstairs from the looks of it, the banister for the stairs seems questionable in reliability as well as the stairs themselves, the air feels stuffy like a hospital while smelling like sour milk. Dust particles float through the air, only visible when passing through the light.

   Once we're standing in the family room the awkwardness is not far behind. We just glance everywhere around the room but at each other, me actually observing the room and him rocking stiffly on his heels.

   "Uh...so do you wanna, um, sit down?" He gestures to a couch that looks like it got rejected by Queen Victoria during decorating.

   "Sure, thanks."

    Plopping down on the couch proves to be a bad move since the moment I hit the puke green cushions it's like an explosion of dust flies up from it. I guess it hasn't been used since getting rejected by Queen Victoria.

   I can tell this embarrasses Ruthford somewhat so I try, for his sake, to play it off by ignoring it.

   "So are you home alone?"

   Scratching the nape of his neck, he mutters along his response, "Yeah, my dad's at work and my uncle's out with friends..."

   I nod, "Cool."

   Back to the same old awkward silence. He continues to rock on his heels while staring down at the scuffed looking floorboards, scratching his neck. Since he's the host here, I'm not really sure where this is going to go and it's not really my responsibility to guide this visit, but it wouldn't hurt to move him along.

   "Um," I clear my throat a little.

   Glancing up timidly, he stares for a second.

   "Oh, um, do you need anything? Like to drink or eat?"

   "Yeah, that be nice, something to drink."

    I make sure to add a reassuring smile that will put him at ease.

   "Okay...what would you, uh, like? We have water, milk, um, tea, and- yeah that's it."

   "Just water will do."

   Nodding, he wanders next door into the kitchen, leaving me alone to scan the room again.

   From the couch, I glance over at the rundown, brick exposed fireplace then at the 1990s TV set, finally settling on the table of family portrays.

   There are photos in old grainy textures with stern-faced people, poor quality color photos with a young looking couple, and more various photos on the green cloth table.

   I want to get up and study them more carefully, but Ruthford's in the next room ready to come in at any moment and I don't want to seem nosy. I remember how embarrassing it was when Xalale was looking over my family photos so I restrain myself from going over to the table.

   Ruthford returns with a glass of water in hand which he gives me. It's refreshing to drink the cold water after being in the heat for so long and I thank him graciously.

   It's back to awkward silence once more, but this time he takes the initiative to speak up.

   "So I guess I'll go get the samples for you to taste. Do you, uh, wanna do it in here or go in the kitchen?"

   "Whatever's easiest for you."

   "Alright, I guess we can do it in the kitchen since it will probably be easier to, you know, clean it up afterward...you know."

   "That's fine."

    Getting up to follow him, I wait for him to lead the way. Lingering for a moment in his spot, he nods stiffly then guides me into the kitchen where he directs me to a stool at the island in the middle of the kitchen. Rummaging through the top freezer part of the fridge, he fumbles with the containers a little but makes it to the island with an armful of samples for me to try.

   "Aren't they going to be frozen from being in the freezer?" I ask, surveying the assortment.

   "Uh, well our freezer is broken so...that's why my dad and uncle built that freezer house in the back...our freezer has been broken for awhile, so."

   He sniffles then rubs his nose standing there, letting silence settle back down like the dust particles in the room.

   "Wow," I speak up craving some noise. "There are a lot of flavors here."

   I'm hoping his enthusiasm for yogurt kicks in so at least then the conversations won't die down.

   "Yeah, I labeled them last night so you would know what they were," He stands beside me, rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands clasped before him. "Oh!"

   I watch him shift through the drawers for something before returning to my side and handing me a spoon.

   "The most important part." He smiles meekly.

   Ruthford's spirit animal has to be a mouse. He's so small- not physically of course- and misunderstood- you can tell. There's a cuteness to him that's hard to pinpoint, but it's there. He's an awkward thing that gets excited over little things like cheese, or in his case, yogurt.

   I know I'm probably looking like an idiot, but I can't help but smile when thinking about what a stark contrast Ruthford and Xalale's spirit animals are. Cat's definitely have the intuition to prey on mice, but mice can outsmart cats. Then again, cats are quicker and have claws.

    Coming out of my thoughts, there's still a stupid smile on my face as I think about this. Lazily glancing over at Ruthford, I'm hoping he doesn't think me too strange, but I'm surprised to see him watching me with a small smile on his face as well. It immediately goes away once he realizes I've noticed him. Scratching his scalp, he tries to play it off by asking,

   "Which one do you wanna try first?"

   "Um..." I inspect the selection before me with careful eyes. I'm not a huge fan of yogurt so I don't want to have anything too crazy. My eye lands on one labeled: Milk Chocolate.

   "I'll try the Milk Chocolate. It looks pretty tempting."

   Popping open the lid, I scoop a nice spoonful then taste it- making sure my face doesn't give me away if it turns out I don't like it.

    But in all honesty, it's not too bad- not as bad as I expected it to be.

   "So?" He appears anxiety to hear my opinion- rubbing his hands together.

   "It's really nice. I usually don't like the texture of yogurt, but this one is nice."

    He gives a lopsided smile that makes him look ten times more confident than usual. It comes and goes quickly, but it was nice seeing him so encouraged- it made me feel pretty good. Though his smile resorted to a crooked slant, his mood has become improved.

   Starting to hurry out of the kitchen, he pauses to look back at me and ask,

   "Do you mind if I run off and get something real quick?"

   "No problem."

   Nodding, he scurries out of the kitchen to fetch something, leaving me alone to peruse the other flavors. Scrunching my nose, I pick up a peculiarly named flavor and inspect the tea green contents.

   "Vanilla Pistachio?"

    That's about one of the oddest flavor combinations I've ever heard. First off, I'm not the biggest fan of pistachios- they have the weirdest taste to them- and matching that with vanilla just sounds like a poor combination.

    I'm setting aside the container when Ruthford rushes back in with a red spiral notebook and pen in hand. Sitting down next to me, he flips open to a paper already half filled with minuscule sized scribbles. I'm looking into his ever eager brown eyes as he takes the cap of the pen and begins to question me.

  "So, how would you describe the flavor you just tasted? The exact flavoring."

  "Um...chocolaty?" I'm not sure how specific he wants this to be.

   But he quickly jots it down then looks up again to ask another question.

   "Alright, so what was the first thing that you noticed upon eating the confection?"

    "The confection? Is that what we're calling it now?"

   "Uh, honestly?"

   He nods vigorously, "As honest as you can be. I need to know everything- down to the last detail- if I want to improve my craft."

   "Um, okay," I fiddle with the spoon. "Honestly, the first thing that I thought was: wow, this doesn't taste half bad."

    I pause and wait for his response, praying he won't take it the wrong way.

    But, in fact, his good spirits only lift at hearing that.

   "Really? Why?"

   "I mean, I'm not a big fan of yogurt, but yours was actually pretty good. I'm sure my mom would do better at this than me since she eats the stuff more."

   "I could give a few to take home with you so she could try." He offers a bit more on the hesitate side again. "Then I could get her input as well."

   "She would like that." I smile, trying to ease him.

    It works and he returns my smile.

    He asks me a few more question about the yogurt before offering me to try another one.

    I try strawberry next and that too is a pleasant experience. Maybe I've just been trying the wrong the yogurt all this time. We go through the question process again.

    We repeat this cycle of taste testing and questions a few times; I become more detailed in my responses each time around, which I'm sure thrills Ruthford. We decide to take a short break and relax in the family room.

   Even though just seconds ago he was as animated as one could be, Ruthford becomes awkward yet again when faced with no talk of yogurt. It's up to me to break down these barriers.

   "So," I begin, slouching more casually on the reject couch. "You live here with your parents and uncle?"

   "Uh, no...just my dad and uncle. My mom..."

    I'm a terrible conversationalist myself as it proves by Ruthford's lower volume voice and constant glancing at the floorboards.

   "Oh, I'm sorry," I reply sympathetically.

    At this, he timidly looks up from the floorboards, somewhat meeting my gaze.

   "She's not dead. She-" He lowers his voice and eyes again. "She left.

   "Oh." Is all I can say.

    How can I come back from that awkward misunderstanding?

    I decide to just let the topic drop. We sit like that on the couch, a good space between us, me fiddling with my thumbs, him staring at the floor.

   Coming up with something else to ease the tension in the room, I turn to talk to him, but he's already looking straight at me.

   "Are you going to the town festival?" He blurts.

   I didn't expect that and I have to recover a second before answering.

   "Yeah, I plan on going. You?"

   Scratching his hair, I can tell he's fighting to keep eye contact.

   "Yes, yeah. I didn't want to go alone- it would- would be- I don't like being-"

   The redness creeping up from his neck is blatantly apparent, but I throw him a lifeline and interrupt him with a reassuring smile and patient tone.

   "I don't like going by myself either."

   Relaxing his body language, he breathes a smile himself.

   "Yeah."

   We just kind of stare at each other a few moments trying to break away our gaze non awkwardly. It ends up with me just flashing a quick smile and getting up from the couch.

   "Wanna head back to the kitchen and finish tasting the rest?"

   Even though talking about yogurt is the most painfully dull thing in the world, it's ten times better than the uncomfortable conversation right now.

  I expect his mood to increase tenfold by that, but instead, he seems rather- I'd say- disappointed- which baffles me. He's been nothing but energetic whenever discussing his favorite treat. Perhaps he's gotten bored of his own passion. Yet I don't believe this is the case. He looked almost deflated at the mention of this, trying to mask it, but ultimately fails.

   "Of course." He whispers, slowly standing up from the couch and making his way into the kitchen.

   Even as he passes me, I don't sense the same energetic vibes radiating off him like when I first got here.

   "Maybe I depressed him by bringing up his mother?" Now I'm worried I've messed everything up- not too surprising.

   I want to apologize, but don't fully know how to address it without upsetting him more. The second half of our taste test isn't as enjoyable- and it may just be me, but- the yogurt isn't as good as the first time.

   By the end of our now dampened visit, I haven't bought back up his mother or apologized for upsetting him. He gives me a few samples to give to my mom to try and I promise I'll get her feedback on it. He gives me a weary smile as I glance back as I leave the property.

   "I really need to learn to tame this stupid mouth of mine."

   Journeying back into town, I feel like running back and apologizing, but it would be futile now and I still have other things to do before the day is out.

   Unfortunately, this will probably weigh on my mind the rest of the day.